R. Salvatore - Echoes of the Fourth Magic

They went into the tunnel with only the staff to guide them. Just a few places back from Arien it was difficult to see, and for those a hundred steps back, or two hundred, the winding tunnel loomed pitch-black. This was a time of joining for the elves, a time of communication and trust in each other. Finding the way around rocks or up unevenly carved stairs depended solely on the person, the link to the light, directly ahead. Just a few feet into the blackness, Mitchell realized the futility of his stubborn anger and grabbed Del’s hand.

The tunnel went only several hundred yards into the mountain, but the slow pace and the winding way made the journey seem much longer. Especially for Del, continually assaulted by Mitchell’s unending stream of grumbles and complaints.

“Shaithdun-o-Illume!” Arien finally called, for far up ahead loomed a lighter spot, and the elves renewed their songs and cheers.

Suddenly the outline of a man appeared at the tunnel exit, and Arien stopped short in surprise.

“Who could it be?” a frightened Ryell asked. Many strange things had happened recently, not the least of which was the arrival of the ancient ones, and Ryell, like so many others, was certain that Illuma was heading for a crisis that threatened the very existence of his people. “No one entered the tunnel before us and there is no other way to the shaithdun.”

“Well, I daresay it’s about time you got here!” came a familiar voice, dispelling all fears. “A bit past time, I should say!”

“Pray no,” Ryell groaned. “The jester awaits.”

“If you wished to join the celebration, you should have come in with the line,” Arien said to the wizard, approaching the tunnel exit. “The customs should not be ignored.”

“Join the celebration?” the confused mage echoed. “Oh, no no, not for that, not for that! I mean, there isn’t going to be any celebration, so why would I come to join it, after all?”

“What do you imply?” Arien asked gravely, his suspicions heightening all the more as Ardaz stepped in front of him, blocking his exit from the tunnel.

“Get out of our way, old fool!” Ryell snapped indignantly.

“The Staff of Light must stay in the tunnel!” Ardaz retorted in a suddenly sober and deadly serious tone. “And there shall be no celebration this night!”

Ryell spouted in protest, but Arien, reading the danger in the wizard’s eyes, silenced him at once. For the Eldar knew well the moods of Ardaz, and turned back to him with genuine concern. “Is there trouble afoot?

“Ungden’s spies are in Mountaingate,” Ardaz replied grimly. “I am sorry, but a party on the shelf would certainly be visible down there.”

“How do you know they are there?” Ryell growled, ever doubting the wizard. “If this is one of your games-”

“I know!” Ardaz retorted, and Ryell was knocked back by the bared power in the wizard’s voice.

“Never before have they come this far,” Arien muttered.

“Never before has Ungden been this determined,” Ardaz replied grimly. He didn’t have to speak his further thoughts, that something far worse and more dangerous than Ungden the Usurper was behind this latest attempt to discover the whereabouts of Illuma, for he knew that those fears were shared by every member of Lochsilinilume.

Obviously distressed at canceling the celebration, Arien was wise enough to nonetheless heed the words of his wizard adviser. “Have this passed back down the line,” he instructed Ryell, handing over the Staff of Light. “Now is the time for our people to make preparations; the celebration will have to wait.”

“Arien,” Ryell moaned, “surely you’re not going to ruin this night on the words of that one.”

“Instruct the people to go back to the city,” Arien calmly and unshakably continued.

Ryell swung around angrily on his heel and started down the line, but Arien wasn’t through with him yet.

“Summon the nine second-born and accompany them to the shaithdun. It is time for a council, I believe.”

“Do you wish anything else, my lord?” Ryell grumbled with pouting sarcasm.

“I do,” Arien retorted sternly. “Have my daughter and Erinel bring our visitors. This trouble may concern them as well.”

Arien waited at the exit to the tunnel to greet the others as they arrived. “Our council may be grim,” he said to Del and Billy, “but at the least you have come at the right time to see Lock-sh’Illume, the Moon Pool, at its height of beauty.”

The pair stepped onto the shelf and saw that the Eldar had not exaggerated in the least. They stood on a flat ledge of a bowl-shaped gorge surrounded by high mountain walls of mica rock that funneled out wider to embrace the evening sky as they rose. The walls below the ledge remained vertical, though, dropping straight down for hundreds of feet to a deep, cool mountain pool. A stream rushed out from a hole in the rock face a few yards to the left of the tunnel and dove headlong down the chasm. This was Tivriasis, ever singing her haunting notes that conjured images of heroic adventures and mystical lands as she danced across the rock walls on her journey to the darkness of the water below.

The southern side of the gorge showed the only break in the mountain wall, starting as a crack down by the pool, but widening as it rose so that all of the southlands opened to the viewer. In daylight, Mountaingate and Avalon were clearly visible, but in the night, only the shadowy forms of the southern mountain range and an occasional light on the wide Calvan plain beyond could be seen.

No torches were necessary on the shelf except on the darkest of nights, for even by the stars, the abundant mica reflected enough light to see by. On a night such as this, with a clear moon rising, the ledge gleamed bright with ghostly silver.

As Del stood mesmerized by the beauty before him, an old man came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. At first Del didn’t recognize the man, for though he wore a hat and robe similar to those of the wizard Ardaz, he had a long white beard, bushy eyebrows, and flowing white hair that trailed well below his neck. A large raven perched comfortably on his shoulder. It was Ardaz, of course, as Del realized when the wizard pointed to his beard and winked.

Astounded, Del gave the beard a slight tug, and the wizard cackled with amusement and twirled away to greet the others as they exited the tunnel onto the shelf. Del gave a laugh of his own and followed, glad that Ardaz had come, and wondering what manner of magic the wizard had used to gain the ledge before them. Perhaps he had been a bird, like the one now perched on his shoulder. Or maybe he had a broomstick, like some witch of old Halloween tales.

When the last of the council group had exited the tunnel, Arien sat down with his back against the mountain wall and bid them all to sit in a semicircle about him. The Eldar hardly noticed as the others sorted themselves out, his eyes transfixed on the southern gap in the mountains and his mind drifting back across the centuries. He had been the firstborn of the second generation of Illumans, the first elf born of elven parents, and the first child born in Illuma. He remembered the time when he had stepped out onto the shaithdun and first viewed Loch-sh’Illume. Through this same gap in the mountain wall, young Arien Silverleaf had also seen the wide southlands that day and had realized that there was indeed much more to the world than Illuma Vale and the Crystal Mountains surrounding it. His father came to him then and told him of mighty Pallendara, the city the elves call Caer Tuatha, and of wondrous Avalon, Clas Braiyelle, and of all the wide lands in between.

Shaithdun-o-Illume became a special place to Arien. So much so that when Tivriasis, his wife and the mother of Sylvia, passed from this world, he found his solace here. The song of the stream caught Arien’s soul that night, its joyful melody so akin to the notes that had guided the life of the elven maid who had been his mate. Thus Arien named the stream in her memory, and on that same night he began the tradition of Luminas ey-n’abraieken.